


The Sky Never Looked So Gray

by ohstars, sparkstarthetrashcan



Series: Strung Together Universe [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Platonic String, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 17:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21149213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkstarthetrashcan/pseuds/sparkstarthetrashcan
Summary: The Spider-Man Curse is defined by the loss of a loved one by a future Spider-Man, most often an uncle.Peter knows loss. It's always been there: his parents, his uncle, his friends. Everyone but Aunt May has left him, but each time he gains something. He becomes a stronger man. But it's not until Spider-Man chooses Pikachu that he feels alive again.





	The Sky Never Looked So Gray

**Two Years Post-Bite | Two Years Pre-Miles | Three Years Pre-Storm | Two Months Pre-Ben**

“Uncle Ben?”

Uncle Ben looks up from his notebook, pen poised in the air. “Peter? What are you doing up? I thought May said you had gone to bed hours ago?” He sets the pen down and turns in his chair, facing Peter. 

Peter shuffles into the kitchen and takes a seat opposite Uncle Ben. “I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles as his fingers pick up the pen, twirling it around. 

“Ah,” Uncle Ben says as he takes off his reading glasses, “it’s got you, too?” 

“What does?” Peter’s brow furrows. 

Uncle Ben hums. “The thought tornado. It comes in at the worst of times, unannounced, and likes to bring all of the thoughts you had pushed away throughout the day to the front of your mind. They’re usually common at bedtime, when it knows you’re trying to sleep.”

“Is that why you’re sitting in here alone?” Peter asks. 

“Yup. The tornado sent me to work,” Uncle Ben says as he motions to the open notebook in front of him. 

Peter grimaces as he moves to get out, chair squeaky with the movement. “Sorry, I’ll let you work-”

Uncle Ben reaches forward and takes Peter’s forearm in his hand. “Stay. I could use the company,” he says. 

“But you’re-”

“I always have time for you, Peter.” 

Peter bites at his bottom lip and sits back down, the wooden chair creaked. 

Uncle Ben closes the notebook and takes the pen from in front of Peter, placing it beside his glasses. “What seems to be bothering you, Peter? Why is your tornado keeping you up?” 

There’s something about the way his uncle looks at him, with kind grey eyes and his soft smile, that makes Peter feel like he’s back in diapers. Which is a shame because Peter is _ not _a toddler, he’s practically an adult! But at the same time, it makes him feel warm inside; safe and loved. 

Peter barely feels like himself nowadays, like his body is someone else’s. His arms are too long. His skin is too oily. His palms are always sweaty, and when they’re dry, they stick to everything if he’s not constantly thinking about it. His hair never does what he wants. He always hears way too much. His skin is too sensitive. His body never reacts the way it should, especially in awkward situations. He never has shoes that _ actually _ fit, no matter how many times Aunt May takes him to get the right size. Even his teeth feel foreign! But when Uncle Ben looks at him, everything makes sense. 

Uncle Ben turns everything right side up when the world feels like it’s on its head. 

He looks away from Uncle Ben’s gaze, picking at his fingernails. “What do you think about superheroes?”

“Superheroes?” 

Peter nods. “Yeah, like Captain America or Iron Man.”

Uncle Ben leans back, presses his lips together, and crosses his arms. “Superheroes are tough. On one hand, they save us and they do good, but on the other, they’re just as dangerous as the villains they fight.”

“What do you mean?”

“How many times have you seen the Hulk smash an apartment building? Or how they get to take the villain away and leave us with a mess to clean up?” Uncle Ben crosses his legs. “We give these heroes so much power over us and we barely know them. Who’s to say that Captain America won’t turn against us or that Iron Man can’t be bought?”

Peter’s head drops as his bangs brush his forehead. “Oh. I never thought about that.” 

Uncle Ben runs a hand over his face. “You never truly know someone’s alignment, Peter. You may think you know everything about someone, but when tragedy strikes, who’s to know which way they’ll go. A person is built on their choices and actions that come from the ”

**Four Years Pre-Bite | Ten Years Pre-Miles | Eleven Years Pre-Storm | Eight Years Pre-Ben**

Peter looks up at the planes. “Look, Mommy!” His chubby finger points as a plane takes off on the runway below them. 

Mary Parker bends down beside her son, her sweet seven-year old son. She wraps her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I see, I see. Your dad and I are going to fly in one of those.” 

“Really?” Peter gasps, turning in her arms. “Can I come with?” 

“No, sweetie,” Mary says softly. She kisses his nose. 

Peter squeaks and squirms, giggling as he presses his face against the window. “Why can’t I go with you?”

“Because you’re going to stay with Aunt May and Uncle Ben and have the best week in the world while we’re bored to death at work,” Mary says. She taps her finger on the window as a plane comes into view, landing miles away on the other side of the glass. “Look at that one, Peter!” 

“It’s so big!” 

Mary laughs, pressing a kiss to the mop of brown hair atop Peter’s head. 

She’ll only be gone for a week, yet it feels like forever. 

“You’ll be good for Aunt May, won’t you?” she asks, brushing the hair off his forehead. 

Peter glances at her, a dotted smile on his face. He’s lucky he won’t have to deal with the frustration that braces bring, he has Richard’s smile - lopsided with the most perfect imperfect teeth she’s ever seen. He may take after Richard through appearance, but he’ll always have her eyes and heart. 

Peter’s so good at such a young age; the sweetest, kindest boy she’s ever met (biased, but screw it). Mary’s never seen a child look after so many stray frogs and spiders with such care. He’ll be a good man and hopefully she’s put him on track to have a good head on his shoulders. Heaven knows the world needs a man like Peter. 

“Mommy, I’m an angel, remember?”

“How could I ever forget?”

There’s a flash behind her. May must be taking pictures. 

Richard kneels on the other side of Peter, a hand on Mary’s knee and steadying Peter’s wobbly posture. “Mary, dear, we have to go now.” 

Peter turns around, back to the window, and plops down on the cushion. He pouts, looking between his parents, bottom lip quivering. 

Oh no. 

Mary’s eyes drift to the ceiling, blinking fast as the tears start to build. He’s going to start crying which will set her off and he’ll beg them to stay and she’ll never leave him alone ever again and she’ll ditch her career just to hold her little boy a closer. 

Her arms ache to scoop him up and kiss his soft cheeks until the end of her days. 

Instead she kisses his forehead one more time, fixes his hair, and whispers, “Goodbye my sweet boy. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you.” 

Peter sniffles. “I want to go with you, though.”

“Peter,” Richard says, “we talked about this. We’ll only be gone for a week.”

The child huffs as he hugs his father. “Okay. But bring me back goggles. I want actual scientist goggles for show and tell and they _ have _ to be from the fancy lab!” 

  
Richard laughs as he stands up, grabbing their suitcases as he does. “I’ll bring you back the goggles and maybe your mom and I can sneak you a lab coat in our things if we’re stealthy enough. 

Peter nods, grin taking up half his face, as he looks up at Mary. “Please Mommy! You have to be the stealthiest spy to ever spy! For me, Mommy?” 

“Anything for you.” Mary stands up and presses her lips into a tight smile. 

Peter hugs her legs tight, a heavy weight that she never wants to leave. All too soon he pulls away and moves to stand beside his aunt and uncle, his bottom lip protruding in a pout. 

Richard takes her hand and guides her toward security. “He’ll be fine, Mary.”

Mary sighs and glances over her shoulder to smile at her son one last time. 

May Parker takes a picture as Peter waves at his parents. 

**Ten Minutes Pre-Bite | Four Years Pre-Miles | Five Years Pre-Storm | Three Years Pre-Ben**

_ Thump _. 

Peter drops his bag on the floor and throws himself onto the bed. He rolls over onto his side, face squishing into his pillow as his eyes drift toward his bedside table. It’s cluttered, with his lamp, empty water bottles, his camera, and a single picture frame crammed onto the table. His eyes land on the frame, where the back of seven-year-old Peter waves to his parents as his mother smiles at him. It’s the last time he ever saw them and the last picture they ever took. 

He closes his eyes. 

As much as he loves living with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, he wishes more than anything that they would have made it off that plane. He’s thirteen, going through the toughest years of his life (_ middle school _…) and he needs his parents. 

But Peter knows he’s lucky. Had it been just a biology conference, Peter would have gone with and would never have touched the ground. 

There’s something charming about that idea; never having to touch the ground, to be weightless and free from gravity in a never ending flight. Peter wants to try it, to soar and fly through the air like a bird, caught in the wind without a care in the world. 

Aunt May says he’s watched _ Peter Pan _ too many times. 

It’s been four years and he already can feel his memory slipping. When he closes his eyes, Peter can barely hear his mother’s voice or feel his father’s hand ruffling his hair. His stomach twists as a thought drifts in his mind: one day, he’ll forget what they look like. 

Peter rolls off the bed and walks to his closet, where a trunk takes up the majority of the floor. It’s (_ was _) his father’s, filled to the brim with research and papers that built his career, nonsense that Peter has no idea the importance of. 

He drops to his knees and heaves the trunk open. 

For the first time, he really sees it’s contents. Thick slabs of paper stapled and paper clipped together, stacked as neat as possible, line one half of the trunk. The other has little jars with dead spiders and specimen, each labeled and delicately captured. 

He sifts through the stacks of paper. 

It’s all essays and experiments, detailing every step and thought Dr. Richard Parker had about his work. Peter knew he was a scientist, but he had no idea he was a biologist, with a specialty in genetics. 

Peter skims through an essay, but there’s too many words he doesn’t understand. 

He glances back at his bedside table, where his parents’ figures disappear into the background for the last time - captured forever like the spiders in these jars. 

Peter’s chest swells; he knows what he’s meant to do now. He’ll pour over these essays and research until he understands. He’ll study biology, catch up to where his father left off. He’ll finish his father’s work. He’ll-

Something pinches his foot. 

He jumps up and looks around, wiping at the side of his foot. Peter doesn’t see anything. 

The trunk closes with a quiet thud as Peter takes the earliest essay back to his bed. 

He’ll do his homework later. There’s more important things to be done.

**Two Days Post-Bite | Four Years Pre-Miles | Five Years Pre-Storm | Three Years Pre-Ben**

Peter’s foot aches. 

There’s a bump on the side of his right foot, nothing to be concerned of by looks alone but the pain? Oh, the pain is overwhelming in a way Peter’s never felt before. It takes him over, turning his stomach over and over with every step he takes. 

Aunt May thinks it was a spider bite. 

Peter rolls over in his bed, eyes heavy with sleep and his foot throbbing. He has school in two hours, has to leave in one, but he could use five more minutes of sle-

“Good morning, dear,” Aunt May says as she pours a cup of coffee. 

He sits up in his bed. 

Peter can feel the vibrations of Uncle Ben walking into the kitchenette. “Morning. Is Peter up yet?” he says. 

Peter is three rooms away, yet he can hear and feel them moving as if they were standing at the foot of his bed. He throws off the covers and plants his bare feet against the hardwood floor. Peter stands up, stretching his arms out wide-

His lamp crashes to the floor, the bulb shattering.

“What was that?” Uncle Ben asks. 

“Did that come from Peter’s room?” Aunt May asks, there’s a soft thump, like she’s setting down her coffee mug before she yells, “Peter? Are you okay?” 

The navy comforter hangs from the palm of his hand, draping over his bedside table haphazardly, knocking over his picture frame and the empty water bottle. Peter’s eyes grow wide as he shakes his hand up and down, fingers splayed and palm open. The comforter hangs, sticking to Peter’s hand as if it were coated in super glue. 

Footsteps grow louder, a mismatched pair of delicate and sturdy steps coming closer to his room.

“Uh, yeah? I’m okay. Just bumped into my table,” he says quickly, sitting back on his bed. He lifts his leg, but it doesn’t move. His foot stays planted on the floor, the skin straining to stay where it is as he lifts his foot up.

Peter pauses, he must make quite a picture. Body still heavy with sleep, one hand stuck out with a comforter hanging off it as if it were draped over a pole or table rather than the palm of Peter’s hand, and his feet stuck to the floor quite literally. He’s stuck in nothing but his underwear, sitting at the edge of his bed. 

Oh my god. Harry’s been here. He had to be… right?

“Um, Uncle Ben? Can you come in here?” 

The door creaks open and Uncle Ben pokes his head in. He pushes the door open and closes it behind him, before Aunt May can see. “The hell happened here?”

Peter blushes. “I think Harry happened.”

Uncle Ben shakes his head. “This is why you don’t leave your window unlocked. C’mon. Let’s see what’s the matter.”

**Two Weeks Post-Bite | Four Years Pre-Miles | Five Years Pre-Storm | Three Years Pre-Ben**

It wasn’t Harry. 

Peter doesn’t know how to explain it, but something has changed. _ He’s _ changed. On a biological level, Peter isn’t the same. 

He tried to talk to Uncle Ben about it, to ask about the changes he experienced. All he got was the sex talk, which was _ not _ helpful. Scratch that, it _ was _ helpful in the long run. At least now he wouldn’t wake up in a panic because other parts of him didn’t want to sleep. But it didn’t explain these changes. 

His sight is _ unbelievable _. Peter can focus in on little things like a microscope, without straining his eyes. One long look at the carpet and Peter can see all of the dust and crumbs clinging to each tightly woven fiber, without having to squish his face to the carpet itself. 

He can hear three apartments over, or up, or down, if he really focuses. If he doesn’t, he can easily hear through the next two. Peter’s heard too much of the Walinknowski’s love life; he can’t look them in the eye anymore, not after the Night of the Bubblegum Disaster. 

Peter’s skin feels tingly all of the time, but more so when something’s about to happen. He reacts without thinking, especially when it comes to projectiles. Flash threw a baseball at him during lunch yesterday when Peter wasn’t looking. By some miracle, Peter’s arm twisted behind him, an inner force lurching his body around in his seat, and caught the ball a centimeter from his nose. The cafeteria had erupted in cheers, a refreshing excitement surrounding him that Peter had never experienced, yet he couldn’t even enjoy it because _ how the hell is this even possible??? _

His hands still feel like they’re covered in glue, sticking to surfaces whenever he’s not paying attention. His feet can do the same thing. Uncle Ben found him glued to the ceiling two days ago, stuck in a _ Twister _-esque position with a pencil between his lips and his hands intermingled with his legs. Peter still doesn’t know how he got up there or what’s going on. 

All he knows is there’s a bite on his foot. It was swollen for a few days, a large knot on the side of his right foot, but now it’s just a mark, two dots, side by side, and raised like morse code or braille. 

Aunt May took him to the hospital for it once he showed her. Not that he intended to. 

Peter was getting ready for school, rushing around the apartment with his pants half on and his hoodie hanging off his shoulder. His bare feet pattered around the hardwood floor, skidding back and forth. 

Aunt May stopped him, grabbing him by his shoulders and pushing him into a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit. You need to eat.” 

His knee bounced up and down, a reenactment of Thumper from _ Bambi _right there in their kitchen. “I can’t eat. I already missed the bus.” 

“Eat.” Aunt May shoved a bowl of cereal in front of him and planted both her hands on her hips. “You won’t be able to focus in class if you don’t eat before you leave.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “I can grab something on the-”

“No. Eat.” 

He picked up the spoon. Without thinking, Peter reached down to scratch his foot. 

“What the hell is that?” Aunt May asked, already dropping down to her knees beside him. She grabbed his foot, yanking it toward her and examining every angle she could. “When did this happen?” 

Peter dropped his spoon. “I don’t know. A couple of days-”

“You’re not going to school. Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

The doctor said it was a spider bite. Peter doesn’t know any spider that could do this sort of damage. 

**Two Months Post-Bite | Four Years Pre-Miles | Five Years Pre-Storm | Three Years Pre-Ben**

Peter has powers. He’s not a mutant, not genetically engineered in a lab accident. He’s pretty sure he got them from the dead spider he found in his dad’s trunk. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

No one knows. He wants to tell Uncle Ben, but what can he do? Send him to the doctor? To Iron Man? 

  
Aunt May can never know. She’d panic and worry and baby him. He’s almost an adult, he can handle this himself. 

He wants to tell Harry and Gwen, but they’re being weird right now. Harry’s hyper focused on getting into MIT, even though they’re only seventh graders. Gwen’s jittery, like she’s in her own world. 

They sit on the steps of the library, the three of them facing the street. He wants to tell them, to share this secret before he and Gwen walk back to their apartment building and Harry heads to his dad’s office in Manhattan. Now’s perfect, it’s the beginning of spring break and they can enjoy his powers together for the rest of the week--

“I’m moving,” Gwen says, taking Peter’s hand in his. “We’re heading to Seattle Wednesday.” 

Harry drops his water bottle. “Really? My dad’s selling the building. I won’t be around much either.”

“Wait,” Peter stands up, letting Gwen’s hand fall to her lap, “you’re both leaving?”

Gwen and Harry share a look. “I guess so,” Gwen says sadly. “But we can FaceTime and Skype and we all have phones so we can text! We’ll still be best friends-”

“Just won’t be in the same building anymore,” Harry says. 

Peter’s shoulders fall as he walks down the stairs. He had fixed up their roof to hang out and test his new powers. He wanted to spend the days playing tricks and watching movies. He just wanted to spend time with his friends and be honest with them. Now he has to say goodbye. 

He tells them so. Not the powers thing, but everything else. 

Gwen promises they’ll hang out all day tomorrow and they can help her pack Wednesday morning. 

Harry says he’ll still be around, just not as often. 

“Alright, fine.” Peter sits back beside them. “What am I going to do without you?” He’s really asking Gwen, the platonic love of his life. She’s been his best friend since he moved in with Aunt May and Uncle Ben four years ago. They’ve gone through puberty together, were supposed to graduate together, but now she’s leaving… 

Gwen lays her head on Peter’s shoulder. “My family’s still in the city, Peter. I’ll come visit on holidays and vacations, and I want to go to NYU eventually. It’s not like I’ll be away forever.” 

“And we can still hang out on the weekends?” Harry says, nudging Peter’s other shoulder. “And after school, cause I’ll still be in New York.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “You’re not going to be in school anymore?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Dad wants me to go to a private school closer to Oscorp.” 

And just like that, all of Peter’s plans vanished. 

They spent the rest of their time together playing Super Mario Brothers and eating too much junk food. 

Peter spent his nights planning his superhero costume without them. He’ll be named “Spider-Man” and will work alone, no partners or team. This way, he’ll never have to feel abandoned again. 

**Two Years Post-Bite | Two Years Pre-Miles | Three Years Pre-Storm | Five Minutes Pre-Ben**

“You can’t just do what you please, Peter,” Uncle Ben says, hands on his hips as he stands on the porch of the building. 

“I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Peter says as he jogs down the steps. 

Uncle Ben follows. “You’re fifteen, not fifty, and you’re living in my house, so I make the rules. You can’t just disappear for hours on end. That’s not how this works.” 

Peter looks behind him, nostrils flaring and fists balled at his side. “How am I supposed to grow up if you never give me the space to do so?” 

“You have plenty of space!” Uncle Ben crosses his arms, standing at the steps of the building.

“No, I don’t!” 

Aunt May’s in the doorway, hand on her chin. “Peter, please, it’s late. Why don’t you come back inside and we can talk about this?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, I’m going to Harry’s for the night.” He’s already at the end of the block. He presses the crosswalk button. 

“You are not! You’re staying here. It’s a school night and you’ve been over there three times this week. The Osborne’s don’t want you living with them, Peter.” Uncle Ben takes a step closer. 

A car pulls onto the street. It’s the only one, a few blocks down, and it’s heading this way. 

Aunt May closes the door. “Really, Peter, we don’t like you out here by yourself at night. It’s dangerous.”

Peter adjusts the straps on his backpack. “I want to go to Harry’s. We’re working on something and I want--”

The hair on Peter’s neck stands straight, his body on full alert. 

Time slows.

The car rolls down its back window. 

Peter drops his bag and sprints forward before anything can happen, but he’s not quick enough. 

Three shots are fired. 

He watches them in slow motion. The first hits a parked car, the second grazes the building, and the third…

  
The third hits Uncle Ben. 

Peter screams, grabbing Uncle Ben before he can fall to the ground. 

Aunt May’s already crying, frozen in place as she watches Peter help Uncle Ben to the ground.

Uncle Ben’s gasping for air, clutching at his gut that’s turning red beneath his and Peter’s hands. He looks up at Peter, eyes wide with fear and pain. “Peter,” he says. 

“It’s okay, Uncle Ben. It’s going to be okay. Aunt May’s going to call someone and we’re-”

Uncle Ben grabs at Peter’s right forearm. “I’m sorry.” His arm tingles, a burning sensation as a gray string forms beneath Peter's skin. 

Peter shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just ran off like that. It’s all-”

“Don’t say that.” Uncle Ben shakes his head. “You’re such a good kid, Peter. I should have been easier on you.” 

“It’s okay, Uncle Ben, really. I’m good because of you.”

“I like superheroes,” Uncle Ben says, groaning. 

Peter’s brow furrows. “What?” 

“Superheroes. I like them. I just think they have too much power, too much freedom. They don’t seem to understand that with great power, comes great responsibility. You have to remember that, Peter. So many people don’t.”

There’s sirens in the distance. Peter touches Uncle Ben’s face as a sob pours out of his throat. 

It’s too late. 

He’s gone before the paramedics can jump out of the ambulance. 

**Two Years Post-Bite | Two Year Pre-Miles | Three Years Pre-Storm | Five Days Post-Ben | The Birth of Spider-Man**

Peter sets down his pencil and runs a hand over his face. It’s been so hard to focus. How could he? His uncle is gone and it’s all his fault. 

He glances down at the fully formed string with no one on the other end. 

He could have done so much more. He’s faster than normal, has quicker reflexes than normal. He even heals faster! If he had just been closer, he could have jumped in front of the bullet…

Peter’s gone over that moment again and again, trying to find a way to save him. He couldn’t do anything, but Spider-Man would have done it. Spider-Man would have saved him. 

He picks up the pencil and gets to work, sketching out his newest invention: web-shooters.

If he couldn’t save Uncle Ben as Peter Parker, then he’ll have to become Spider-Man. 

**Three Years Post-Bite | One Year Pre-Miles | Two Years Pre-Storm | One Year Post-Ben | One Year of Spider-Man **

Peter drops his bags in the doorway and walks over to the couch, where Aunt May’s sitting. 

She’s biting her lip, knee bouncing, the mug of tea in her hand threatening to splash all over the blanket tucked around her legs. “So?” 

He trudges forward and plops down beside her. “It was awesome,” he says, dreamlike. “I’m exhausted, but it was awesome.”

“Tell me about it! Did you learn anything? What’s Tony like?” Aunt May asks, setting her tea down on the side table and facing him. “I want to know everything.” 

Peter winces. “I can’t, uh, tell you?” 

Aunt May’s brow furrows. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, I had to sign an NDA.” He sits up and pulls his legs under him, shoes hanging off the couch. “But Mr. Stark was really cool! He was telling me all sorts of stuff and about being Iron Man. Told me a bunch of cool stories about the Avengers! It was really fun.” 

“That’s exciting!” She touches his arm. “Was it a one-time thing or?” 

Peter shrugs. “I have no idea, but I’ll hear from him eventually. He gave me his assistant’s number!” 

Aunt May beams. “That’s fantastic, Peter! My little boy all grown up, working for Stark Industries.” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, smile tight, “Stark Industries.” 

**Three Years Post-Bite | Six Months Pre-Miles | Two Years Pre-Storm | One Year Post-Ben | One Year of Spider-Man **

Peter loves being Spider-Man. It’s been life-changing. He should have been doing this the second he got his powers, helping everyone he possibly could. It was the most fun he could imagine. 

If only Uncle Ben could see this. 

He swings through the air, flipping and flying as he goes. It’s so freeing. 

Yet so dangerous. 

Peter looks down at the cut on his leg. It’s healing, slowly, but if he doesn’t get someone to look at it soon, it’ll heal wrong and he can’t live with that. He can’t be Spider-Man if he’s ruined his leg, and what’s the point of living if he can’t be Spider-Man? 

He climbs in through his open window and takes off his mask the second he closes it. Peter shuffles forward, trying to keep as much weight off his leg as possible. “Aunt May?” 

“Yes?” She’s in the living room, probably watching late night TV and drinking her last cup of hot tea before bed. 

“Can you come here for a moment?” Peter asks. 

Aunt May gets up from her chair, sets down her mug, and turns off the TV before she answers. “Peter, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep by now? You’ve got school in the morning.” 

“I know, but something came up. I, um, need your help,” he says as he heaves himself into his desk chair. 

She opens the door and gasps. “What are you--”

“I’m Spider-Man,” he says, biting his lip, “and I’ve really messed up my leg and I need your help so please don’t be mad at me.” 

Aunt May’s eyes drop to the oozing gash on Peter’s leg. Her face pales as she stumbles forward, falling to her knees in front of him. “Oh, Peter, what did you do?” 

Peter rubs at his neck, tugging at the suit’s collar. “I cut it on a roof, got a little too close when I was swinging.” 

She tsks, sucking the air between her teeth as she holds his leg up for inspection. 

He groans, wincing at her soft touch. 

“I’m going to take care of this and then you are going to sit down and tell me everything.” She raises an eyebrow. “Understood?” 

And they did. He told her everything, about the spider bite, the powers, how he was supposed to could have saved Uncle Ben, and why Spider-Man exists now. 

She understood it. Aunt May, with her years of experience, her gentle nature, and her calling to help people in the medical field, understood it all. 

Aunt May set down her mug of tea and took Peter’s hand. “I’m okay with this, but you’ll tell me every time you leave and come back as Spider-Man, understood. No more sneaking out without telling me. And you’ll get a phone, a patrol only phone or device, so you can call me if things get dire or you can’t get home. Are we clear?” 

Peter nods. “Yes ma’am.”

She squeezes his hand. “Okay then, Spider-Man, go take a shower. You smell.” 

**Four Years Post-Bite | Five Minutes Pre-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | One Year of Spider-Man**

Peter flips through the air, hands spread out to stick to the concrete as his feet soar over his head and land perfectly on the roof. He’s been doing this all day, practicing flips and doing tricks along the skyline. 

In other words, he’s bored. 

It’s a Saturday and he’s out of school with nothing to do but patrol. But patrolling is only fun when there’s stuff to do, when he has people to save. Not that he wants more people in harm's way or anything, but it’d be nice to get some practice in. 

“You’ll regret that!” A gruff voice says from the corner store on the block over. 

“Go home!” a young kid shouts. There’s a flash of blue light from inside the store. 

And action. 

Peter swings down and walks through the store’s door, with a chime of a bell. “Aww, you guys are having a party without me?” 

There’s an older guy (gruff voice) and a kid who seems scared out of his mind. A crumpled gun lays by his feet as he hides his arms behind his back. Peter can see the blue electric light pulsing around his arms. Oh, the blue light’s the kid’s power. 

“Spider-Man!” Gruff voice spits. Ah yes, a villain. 

Peter scratches at his head. “Guess I should catch up, huh?” He raises a hand and thwips a web toward the robber’s face, webbing his mouth shut. “But I don’t think you should be the one telling me. In fact…” Peter jumps up and roundhouse kicks him, top of his foot slamming against his chin. 

Gruff voice goes down with a thud. 

He webs him up and puts his hands on his hips. He spots the cashier hiding behind the counter and the kid with the Pikachu hands. “You guys okay?”

“The cops are coming,” The cashier is quick to say, “they should be here any minute.”

Pikachu’s about to cry, his face flushed and his bottom lip trembling. Peter’s heart aches for him. He must be so scared… 

“That’s my cue then. Good job with that, by the way,” Peter says. He pats Pikachu on the shoulder, squeezing. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Pikachu just nods and follows Peter out of the store. The last strands of electric light fizzle out.

Peter takes Pikachu by the arm and guides him down the alley. They hide behind a dumpster as a cop car pulls up. “Take my hand,” Peter says. 

Pikachu stares at his extended hand in confusion, “Why?” he croaks.

“We have to get out of here.” 

Pikachu takes his hand. It’s warm, too hot for normal, and sends tingles up Peter’s spine, his spidey-sense going off, but not in the dangerous way he’s used to. 

Peter pulls him into a hug, an arm wrapped around Miles as if they were a couple mid-dance, and shoots a web up to the building’s roof. He pulls them up, and they soar through the air and over the edge of the building. He lets him go once they’ve safely landed on the roof. 

“Are you going to- to web me up?” Pikachu asks, looking up at Peter with tears in his eyes. 

“No, I just want to talk.” Peter crouches down, glancing over the edge as the cops pull the robber into their car. He looks back at Pikachu and nods toward his hands. “What’s going on with the hands? You looked like you were straight out of a Shazam! movie.” 

Pikachu shifts uncomfortably, folding his arms. “I, uh, was bit by a spider,” he says quietly, and, despite himself, a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Where?”

“...At my Uncle’s house. I don’t know where the spider came from,” Pikachu says. 

“Did you see what it looked like?” Peter stands up and steps forward, crossing his arms. 

Pikachu shrugs, eyes dropping to his feet. “It was fuzzy and had a number on it’s back. I didn’t see what it was before it disappeared under the couch.”

Peter laughs, hands going to his head. “That sounds like my spider! I was bit by a spider, too! Totally different situations and I can’t do the Pikachu hands like you can, but close enough.” 

Pikachu tilts his head up at him, “I’m not going to call it ‘Pikachu hands.’ Ever.”

He points at him. “Pikachu hands is a fantastic name for a power, thank you very much.” Peter walks around him, heading toward the opposite side of the roof. “So what else can you do? Is your hearing and sight way better than normal? And are you having trouble not breaking things? Or not sticking to stuff?”

Pikachu shrugs, “I used to stick to everything. I uh, learned how to stop. I… think I have everything you do?”

“Plus the Pikachu hands.” 

“I’m going to call it a Venom Strike, not Pikachu hands,” Pikachu says. He takes a deep breath, and holds his hand out for Peter to see. “And watch this.”

In barely a second, his arm up to his elbow has disappeared from sight.

Peter’s shoulders drop. “Damn. I’m lowkey jealous.” 

“Perks of getting bit later, I guess,” Pikachu says with a small smile.

He shakes his head. “I have a theory about all this, but that’s for another day.” Peter reaches up and slides the mask up to the bridge of his nose. “How long have you had these powers?” 

Pikachu hesitates, then he says, “Four months.”

Peter nods. “So not long enough to learn how to put them to use, but long enough to get used to them?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Pikachu says with a small shrug.

“What are you planning on doing with them?” Peter leans against the ledge, ankles crossing.

Pikachu winces, “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m, uh, superhero material. I mean, you do a lot of good, and that’s pretty cool, don’t get me wrong. I’m not sure I’m cut out for that.”

Peter shrugs and climbs onto the ledge. “Well, that’s okay. It’s a hard job to take on, especially for a kid like yourself.” He glances down at the street and smiles. “You just can’t jump into situations like that unless you know what you’re doing, though. Get a little more practice controlling your Pikachu hands first, all right?” 

Pikachu eyes look wet again. “That only turned up recently,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to control it. I-it just turns up sometimes and I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

“I know you don’t. If you ever want someone to help with that, let me know.” Peter smiles as he tugs his mask back down. “I gotta get back out there, but I’ll see you around, kid.” With that, he flips off the building and swings away, leaving Pikachu on the roof. 

**Four Years Post-Bite | One Week Post-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | Two Years of Spider-Man**

“You’ll never believe this kid,” Peter says, mouth full of pho. “He’s the best!”

Aunt May laughs, wiping at her mouth carefully with a napkin. “Take it easy, Peter, we have all night.” 

Peter swallows. “Pretty sure they close in half an hour.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to be a human vacuum.” Aunt May takes a sip from her water glass. “Now, tell me what’s the kid’s name?” 

He shrugs. “Have no idea. I’ve been calling him Pikachu, cause of the electric thingy he does with them. He calls it his ‘Venom Strike’ but it’s definitely Pikachu’s Static move, so I call him Pikachu.” 

Aunt May shakes her head. “Does he know that?”

“Probably not.” 

“He seems like a good kid. Don’t let him get ahead of himself, though. He’s only what? Fourteen?”

“Fifteen,” Peter says, mouth full again. 

Aunt May rolls her eyes. “You get my point, he’s young. You were even younger and went through a traumatic experience before you matured enough to be Spider-Man. He doesn’t have that. You have to slow him down as much as you possibly can to make sure he can handle this sort of responsibility.” She sets down her glass and takes Peter’s hand. “You remember what Ben said, don’t you?”

“With great power, comes great responsibility,” Peter says softly. “Yeah, I know. You can trust me. I’ve got his back.” 

**Four Years Post-Bite | Two Weeks Post-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | Two Years of Spider-Man**

Pre-Cal sucks. He hates pre-cal. It’s genuinely the worst. It’s his least favorite class of the day, thanks to his teacher, Ms. Yaberton, who he loves, being on maternity leave, so now they have Mr. Not-Worth-Remembering as his teacher every other day. It’s ridiculous and he just drones on and on and on. Peter’s like three years ahead of him (literally, he’s studying post-graduate work during his free time usually, thanks to Mr. Banner) but he’s stuck in this class until he can test out of it. 

As much as he hates the class, he has so much fun doing the homework. 

Peter’s sitting at a small table in the cafeteria, hunched over his pre-cal textbook and notepad, pencil in hand, as he munches on a chicken tender. He’s entranced, so focused on his work that he nearly jumps when his spidey-sense goes off. 

“Uh, hi, can I sit here?” someone asks, hovering awkwardly.

He looks up, eyes wide and mouth frozen mid-chew as his pencil stays poised above his homework. 

Holy shit, it’s Pikachu! 

“Uh,” Peter mumbles. He swallows and nods, sliding his things out of the way. “Yeah, sure.” 

Pikachu sits down, “I’m Miles, by the way. Sorry for bothering you.” Miles is a way better name than Pikachu, Peter likes it. 

“Peter,” he says. Peter shakes his head and smiles. “You’re not bothering me. Just shocked, s’all.” 

Miles raises an eyebrow at that, as he picks up a chicken tender. “Shocked?” he questions.

Right, Miles doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. Peter glances over his shoulder where Flash and his friends are throwing fries toward them. He’s so used to it, Peter barely notices anymore, but whenever Ned’s away or they don’t share lunch, he’s vulnerable to Flash and his goons. Somehow, Flash has nearly every class with Peter this year. Lucky him. “Yeah, shocked.” 

Miles leans over and sees what’s happening. He snorts. “Ah, so mature,” he comments. “That Flash guy has always been a douche.”

“Trust me, I know.” Peter shakes his head and sets down his pencil, offering his hand. “I’m the guy he calls Penis Parker.” 

Miles gives him a disbelieving look as he takes his hand. “You’re Penis Parker? Dude, you’re like the smartest kid I’ve ever heard of.”

Peter flushes as he reaches for his food. “I don’t know about all that.” 

“Remember science fair? You were the only kid with an interesting one. What was it on again?”

“It was on an eco-friendly adhesive that’s strong enough to fix water pipes in the ocean,” Peter says, blushing. He scribbles down the answer to his next question and sets his pencil down. Pre-cal can wait, he’s got a friend to talk to. 

“See? No one would have thought of that. How’d you come up with that idea anyway?” Miles questions.

Peter shrugs. “It was just something I had been working on for a while.” 

Through a mouthful of food, Miles smiles and says, “that’s pretty cool. Better than Flash’s baking soda volcano any day.”

Peter laughs, nodding. “Hell yeah it was.” 

Four Years Post-Bite | One Month Post-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | Two Years of Spider-Man

He’s been training Miles for a month now to be another Spider-Man and it’s been the best fun he’s had as Spider-Man in a long time. Peter’s theory about Miles being bitten by a different strand of the Parker spiders turns out to be true, or from what Peter can tell by his dad’s research. 

Peter’s perched on the edge of a roof, watching as Miles tries to shoot a web. “Really flick your wrist, dude. Like Harry Potter, swish and flick.” 

Miles glances side on at him, “Next you’re going to tell me it’s LeviOsa.”

“Never know, I might.” Peter swings over to him. “You have to go like this,” he says, holding out his hand and quickly tapping the web-shooter as he flicks his wrist at the makeshift target. 

Miles nods, concentrating. He aims and copies Peter, managing to send a short web at the target. It missed, but Miles still beamed. “I did it! Sort of.”

Peter claps him on the shoulder. “See! Try it again.” 

He bit his lip, and tried again. This time, he managed to hit the edge of the target. “How’s that?”

“Better. Now go over to the edge and try to hit it from there.” Peter pushes Miles gently. 

Miles walks over to the new spot. He narrows his eyes, aims, and thwips a web. This time, it lands more in the centre. “This is getting easier,” Miles comments, smiling.

“Think you’re ready to try swinging by yourself?” Peter asks, crossing his arms. 

Miles rolls his shoulders, “What’s the worst that can happen? Besides, y’know, a concussion. Sure, let’s do it.”

Peter laughs as he runs back to the edge, jumping off the edge and swinging off the building and onto the next. “I’ll catch you!” Peter calls. 

Miles walks over to the edge, leaning over to look at the ground. He gulps. “You’d better!” He takes a deep breath, aims, and thwips a long web. It attaches and Miles takes a few tenative steps back. Then he runs, jumps, and narrowly manages to avoid hitting the brick wall. He sits down on the ground, legs like jelly. “That was cool.”

“It’s the best part of the job,” Peter says, already jumping off the building to the next. 

Miles stares after him, “Oh, again? Ok, ok, cool.” He gets up and runs after him, hesitating briefly before thwipping a web and swinging after him.

Peter high fives him once Miles lands on the third building. “There’s nothing to it. It’s as easy as Mr. Oler’s music class.” 

Miles nods along obliviously to the slip-up, “Yeah, that _ is _pretty easy. Ok what’s next?”

“You-” Peter shakes his head. “C’mon, let’s see how long you can swing for.” 

**Four Years Post-Bite | Two Months Post-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | Two Years of Spider-Man**

Miles and Peter eat lunch every day now that Ned no longer has the same lunch, not that Peter wouldn’t let Miles sit with him now. They’re Spider-Bros, it’s like in the code, even if Miles is so dense sometimes. Peter’s been trying to tell him, to say he’s Spider-Man but Miles never catches on. 

“Are you still drooling over the model kid?” Miles says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Like, he’s only a seven out of ten.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Peter says, closing his textbook. “Johnny Storm is way more than a seven. If I’m a six, Johnny’s easily a nine, but he’s really a ten.” 

Miles snorts, swallowing his mouthful before saying, “It’s the blonde hair and pearly white teeth. But like, what else? He’s maybe an eight.”

“Do you see that jawline?” Peter shakes his head. “It’s everything.” 

“Ok, so maybe the jawline too. But c’mon, you should just talk to him already instead of drooling all over your books. It ain’t a pretty look,” Miles says, gesturing vaguely to his books.

Peter blushes, shoving a fry between his lips. “Listen,” he says, “Johnny Storm is Johnny freakin’ Storm and it’s not like I can just… walk up to him and talk to him. Penis Parker does not talk to Johnny Storm and Flash would never let that happen.” 

“What’s the worst that Flash can do? Prank you? Smear you with ketchup? Hold you upside down and shake you out for cash? I’m fifteen and even I know that highschool is stupid. Just talk to him,” Miles says with a shrug.

“No, I really can’t, Miles. It’s not safe for me to talk to him. He’d be a target for a lot more than Flash’s pranks and I can’t do that to him.” 

Miles rolls his eyes, “It’s Johnny Storm. One of the most well known and liked kids in school. If he even so much as breathed wrong in his direction, Flash would be dead meat.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers instinctively feeling for his web-shooter. “Not what I’m talking about.” 

Miles gives him a weird look. “Then what _ are _you talking about? It’s just highschool.”

“My internship, Miles,” Peter says, eyebrows raised. “You know, the Stark one?”

“Right, right. If you’re so worried I’m sure you can talk to Stark Industries about some protection?” Miles suggests.

Peter chuckles, smile tight. “Yeah, maybe I could.” 

**Four Years Post-Bite | Ten Weeks Post-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | Two Years of Spider-Man**

Rhino is attacking the city, near his school, and ruining his perfectly good Johnny Storm oogling. This is his only class he gets with Johnny freakin’ Storm and all Peter wants to do is stare longingly at the back of his perfect blond head. 

But no. Rhino has other plans for him. 

Everyone in the class is freaking out, rushing to the window to see what’s going on. 

Peter slips out of the classroom and runs down to the library, where Miles’ usually hangs out during study hall. And that’s exactly where he finds him.

He runs up and grabs Miles by the shoulder, dragging him out of the library before he can even react. Does he not have spidey-sense? Peter’s pretty sure Miles has spidey-sense. 

Miles stumbles along after him. “Peter?” Miles says, confused.

“Let’s go,” Peter whispers, running out of the library and down the hall. 

“What? Go where?” Miles questions, still following him anyway.

Peter looks up and down the hall. There’s no one in the hall but the two of them. He reaches up and rips his t-shirt off, revealing a familiar red and blue suit. “We have to go,” he says. 

Miles’ eyes bug out. “Spider-Man? What?!”

“Yeah, Miles. I’m Spider-Man. Now please, for the love of God, tell me you have your suit, too.” Peter looks over his shoulder, dropping Miles’ hand and reaching into his pocket for his mask. 

Automatically, Miles begins peeling off his clothes to reveal his own suit. “And this is how you’re going to reveal yourself? Just- Penis Parker is Spider-Man?? Wait, is that how you- that’s how you were inspired for your science fair project! Dude! What the heck!” He whisper yells.

Peter skids to a stop and presses Miles against the locker. “Miles, focus. We need to stop Rhino before he causes too much damage. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on earlier. Now take off your pants before someone finds us,” he whispers as he lets go to take off his jeans. Peter hops around, grabbing at his shoes. 

Miles shakes his head, pulling off his own shoes. “You’re explaining everything after, got it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

**Four Years Post-Bite | Ten Weeks Post-Miles | One Year Pre-Storm | Two Years Post-Ben | Two Years of Spider-Man **

Miles sits down on the unconscious body of Rhino, folding his legs under him. “It’s like sitting on a turtle,” he comments to Peter.

Peter’s mask scrunches up. “Gross.” 

“Hey, it’s the most effective way to venom blast him again if he, like, wakes up again. I’m thinking ahead,” Miles says, tapping his head.

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

He turns to Peter, “Now, you’ve got some explaining to do mister. When were you going to tell me?”

“After you made your official debut.” 

Miles looks around them, at the destruction Rhino had caused, then back down at their defeated enemy. “Huh, well, guess I’ve made my debut then. But!” He says, turning back to Peter, “You told me before my first fight. Did you like, forget to wait or something? I gotta know.”

Peter shrugs. “Sometimes plans go out the window.”

“And, so, you’ve been doing this since you were… Hang on! I thought you were going to be like, twenty five or something! But you’re just seventeen. We’re like two years apart!” Miles whisper yells, jaw dropping.

“I got started young.” Peter swings around a light post. 

Miles scrubs at his face, “This is just weird.” A lightbulb goes off over his head. “So… you’re good at math, right?”

Peter pauses. “Yes?”

“You can totally tutor me! Because I suck at it. This’ll be so awesome!” Miles declares, pumping his fist in the air.

Peter shakes his head, a smile hinting beneath his mask. “Anytime, Pikachu.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out the rest of the series!


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